by Wylde, Tara
This time, he leads me down by the stream, to the spot where we first found the fireflies. They’re just starting to come out for the night, winking into view between the leaves and over the water .
I plop down on one of the picnic tables. “Kids are going to love this place .”
“What about you ?”
“I’ll miss it....” I pull Nick down next to me. “I mean, it’s not like we’ll never watch another sunset from this table. But after this, it’ll be everybody’s sunset. This’ll be the last time it’s just you and me and the fireflies, nobody else for miles .”
Nick nods. “It’s strange. I hated this place so much, but now I don’t want to leave.” He grins. “Maybe I’ll just make this my castle. Mine! All mine !”
“Mm, but it’d be kind of weird for a thirty-year-old guy to hog a whole summer camp to himself .”
“I don’t know! There’s—there’s ....”
“Yeah?”
He throws up his hands in defeat. “You got me. Can’t think of a non-creepy example of an adult living in a playground .
“We should come back at the end of the summer, though. Like, right before Labor Day, when everyone’s gone home. We can bring the kids. Have one last marshmallow roast, one last swim, one last pony ride—get all the summer crazies out of their systems, before school lets back in .”
“And after that, we can get married .”
It comes out so casually I’m not sure I heard him right .
But...no. That’s not true. I know I did .
In a way, we’ve been planning our future together for months. Ever since I moved in; ever since he set up his foundation and I came to work for him full-time, our lives have been twining themselves together. We back each other up, at work and with the kids. We’ve talked about more kids, and a house with a yard for them to play in. We’ve talked about college for Katie and Joey, trips we want to take, projects we want to fund. Even a dog—we’re surprising the kids with a trip to the shelter next weekend, so they can pick the best one. Getting an animal together, that’s real commitment .
So I just lean into him fondly, and say, “What kind of wedding do you want ?”
“Mm...Elvis .”
“Oh, very funny .”
We playfight a while, a little pushy-pushy on the table, nudging each other back and forth till we’re both giggling like teens .
At last, Nick gets himself under control. “Nah, I was thinking—remember that old mansion where we had the hospital fundraiser? Y’know, with the....” He makes an up-and-down gesture with his hands. “With the columns, and the double staircase, and the reflecting pool? I thought we could rent that out again, do it up with flowers and paper lanterns...like...over-the-top romantic .”
I find myself liking that idea. It’s not the wedding I’d originally pictured for myself, but I kind of ruined that by planning it with Joe. This... This would be all me and Nick .
“That was a great night,” I say. “Our first big fundraiser together. I was so nervous, with the dress, and the speech, and all those people ....”
“But then we snuck into that room with the four-poster bed ....”
“Those curtains were amazing—like making love under a veil of stars .”
“I still think we should’ve stolen them .”
I snort. Yeah, that wouldn’t have looked suspicious—the organizers of the event sneaking out the back, rumpled and flushed, trailing armfuls of silk and glittering crystals. I almost wouldn’t put it past Nick: our first overnight at a hotel, I caught him stuffing our suitcase with robes and towels. Said it wasn’t really theft, because the hotel bills you for what you take .
I think in a way, he’s never quite got used to being rich. I like that about him: life’s stayed surprisingly down-to-earth since we got together. It’s good for the kids to keep their feet on the ground. And Nick seems happier now, putting his fortune to good use .
He elbows me one more time. “So, is that a yes? To getting married ?”
I laugh. “You didn’t actually ask me .”
“Yeah, I did !”
“Nope: your exact words were, and after that, we can get married. A statement, not a question .”
He doesn’t look in the least abashed. “We can, though, right ?”
I take my time kissing that smug look off his face. Let him sweat it, just for a second. I’m a little flushed when I tear myself away. “Of course we can .”
Nick brightens. “Perfect! Then I can give you this, before I lose it.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny silver box, ornate, clearly an antique. It’s exquisite, with tiny rosebuds and vines worked into the metal, and an elaborate clasp holding it shut. “You open it. That stupid hinge thing hates my giant gorilla hands .”
I flip the box open. I already know what I’m going to see: diamonds and sapphires in a white-gold band, a classic design given a modern spin. We talked about this, too, sitting right about where we are now .
Even knowing what’s coming, the reality takes my breath away. The ring is delicate, gorgeous, the main stone nestled in a sparkling nebula of sapphires and diamonds that trails off to each side, twinkling around the band. I hand it to Nick; he slips it onto my finger .
“It’s lovely,” I tell him. “Just so you know, though, you could’ve given me an onion ring, and I’d still have said yes .”
“Oh, now you tell me!" He cocks his head. “Let’s get onion rings on the way home. I’ve got a craving .”
“Mm, at that place with the spicy mustard .”
We wend our way back to the main campsite as night starts to fall. The fireflies are everywhere now, dancing on the archery range, over the pool, the firepit, the playgrounds. I can’t help but steal glances at the ring. The kids’ve been asking for a while now, when we’re going to get married. Guess we’ll have some big news for them tonight .
It’s a nice night for the drive back to the city. I open the sunroof to let in the breeze. Nick chucks our lunchtime food wrappers into the back seat: that and his study are his two last bastions of slobbery. Anywhere else he puts something down, the housekeeper whisks it away before anything unsavory can coalesce. I was worried his junkrat tendencies might start to annoy me, with time, but nope: still totally cute. Plus, I still have some pretty hot memories of his disreputable back seat .
Gives me a thrill to realize I’ll have a whole lifetime of memories to look forward to: hot ones, sweet ones, weird ones...the whole shebang. I never felt this kind of certainty with Joe. I didn’t know what it was, back then, but there was always something in the back of my head, a feeling of shakiness, something not right in the foundations. But this time, there’s not a ghost of a doubt .
This is it: this is my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the way it turned out .
Part II
The Storm
I’m not a good man .
I never claimed I was .
But I can be good for her .
Even if she's young enough to be my daughter ...
I ran from the evils of my former life .
Hid away in a mansion and bought a pup .
And then Storm appeared out of the blue .
Literally.
She drifted in on a shot-up, smoking yacht, chased by the wings of a thunderstorm .
This sweet, innocent girl, pure as the virgin snow .
My chance to learn to live again .
But she has secrets, too .
She's lived a life no woman ever should .
The Mob will stop at nothing to find her .
And now they know she's with me .
The man they've hunted for years ...
But I'll protect her from the storm .
Whatever it takes .
Prologue
I should begin by telling you that I don’t consider myself a good man. I’ve done things no man would be proud of, and I’ve hurt people. Whether it was right or wrong is subjective; all I can say is that my life has b
een one of extreme circumstances, to which I’ve often responded with extreme measures .
N ot that your understanding – or lack of it – means anything to me. The only one whose opinion matters is her .
From the moment I first saw her, disoriented and almost drowned by the heaving Atlantic, she has been the only thing in my life of value. I have money – more than a man could spend in a hundred lifetimes – but that’s just scribblings in an account ledger. It can’t make me laugh, or play music that brings me to tears, or make my heart thunder in my chest with a simple kiss .
Only she can do that: the Storm who blew into my life and smashed the wall of normalcy I’d carefully built around myself. She laid me bare in front of the winds and rains of my past, showed me the soul from which I can’t hide, and in doing so helped me finally understand who I truly am .
Yes, I left the lifestyle behind years ago. But I can’t leave myself behind. As an American once said to me when I was fresh off the boat from Russia: no matter where you go, there you are . I thought I understood that, until she explained it to me in a whole new way .
And she loved me . Not in spite of everything I am, but because of everything I am .
Storm came to me under extreme circumstances, and I will use extreme measures to keep her. I won’t apologize for it. If you can accept that, we won’t have a problem .
If you can’t, I suggest you stay out of my way, because nothing in this world will stop me from being with her and keeping her safe .
Nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
1 . NICK
When the chubby little weatherman from Channel 7 actually puts on his rain gear and starts reporting live on location from the storm, I know it’s time to finally go down to the dock and secure my boat .
Samson and Delilah take my flank as they always do whenever I leave the rambling old mansion on the cliffs of Montauk. Shepherds are smart, loyal dogs, but they’re not keen on being left alone, especially in that 30,000-square-foot mausoleum I call home. Some robber baron built it at the turn of the last century as a monument to greed; I bought it because it’s hard to get to .
My long grey slicker shields me from the horizontal rain – the weatherman said winds were gusting up to fifty miles per hour – as I follow the path that leads from the gardens of my house down through a series of switchbacks on the bank and finally to the rocky shore below. The dogs range ahead until they’re out of sight, ignoring the weather .
It takes about five minutes to reach the single-vessel slip where I keep my vintage 30-foot Trojan. I normally just leave her anchored, but with this squall I figure it can’t hurt to get some chafe protectors down and get her moored in. I didn’t spend three years restoring my baby to her full 1974 glory to have it lost at sea, or worse, tossed up onto the rocks .
The dogs see it first and come bounding up to the dock from the rocky stretch of beach, barking their fool heads off. They’re normally very quiet for shepherds, so I take a glance around to see what’s set them off. The Atlantic is roiling with the storm and the horizon is mostly an ashen canvas of rain and fog, except …
Now I see it, too: a shadow maybe a hundred yards out, being tossed about by the waves. The general shape indicates a catamaran running on its sails. If the engines are out, there’s no way it can make it safely to my slip on its own, and if the winds pick up any more, it might end up flipped over and capsized .
God damn it. I just wanted to moor my boat .
“Looks like I won’t be dry anytime soon,” I grouse to the dogs, which they take as an invitation to join me on the Trojan. They hop in and trot down to the saloon as I climb the ladder to the cockpit and hit the toggle to bring up the anchor .
I cruise towards the catamaran at a slow and steady clip, fighting the waves and staying on course as best I can. At fifty yards, I can see her mainsail is just spinning freely – the boat must have gotten loose from its moorings somewhere up the coast and just blew out here. My work here is done .
“That’s what insurance is for,” I mutter as I crank the wheel to head back to the slip .
But now the dogs are barking again .
“What’s up your noses now?” I holler, but even as I do, I see it: a shape on the catamaran’s deck, listing and stumbling with each swell of the storm .
A human shape .
God damn it .
I spin the Trojan back in the other direction and quickly close the distance between us before dropping anchor. Suddenly, the catamaran bobs violently and the person on the deck is pinwheeling backwards towards the stern. There’s no way I’ll be able to pull up alongside and lash my boat to it before whoever it is goes overboard .
“GOD DAMN IT!” I bark. I toss off my slicker and throw my arms forward, leaping from the cockpit into the heaving waters .
My balls shrivel as I plunge into the cold waves and start kicking toward the catamaran. It’s only a matter of a dozen yards, but the storm throws up enough resistance that I’m huffing by the time I reach the ladder .
The shifting waters threaten to pitch me off as I pull myself up. That’s when I’m finally close enough to see that the hull is full of small black dots. I wipe the seawater from my eyes to get a clearer look and realize that they’re bullet holes .
It’s been a lot of years, but my body still welcomes the adrenalin like an old friend as it rushes into my system, quickening my heart rate and widening my pupils. If whoever’s on the deck has a gun, he’s going to regret ever sailing onto the little patch of the Atlantic that crosses my property .
“Help!” a high voice shrieks, and I realize that it’s just a girl. “Please, help me !”
She’s clutching the guardrail on the catamaran’s stern, desperately trying to keep from going overboard. I can see her more clearly now through the driving rain and spray: it’s not a girl but a young woman, late teens or early 20s, long hair, athletic build. No weapon in either hand. Whatever caused the holes, it’s a safe bet it wasn’t her .
I reach the deck and steady myself with the rails. My own sea legs are pretty good after all these years, and I list my way towards the cockpit, where I kick down the handle that drops the anchor to the ocean floor. Then I make my way over to her in just a handful of seconds .
Her blue eyes widen as she sees me. Even drenched by the storm and her current circumstances, she’s striking. But she’s definitely not dressed for the weather: her black cocktail dress barely reaches mid thigh and high heels aren’t doing her any good in this weather. No wonder she can barely keep her footing .
“Thank you!” she blurts as I take her arm. “I thought… I thought I was going to …”
At that moment, the bow heaves up, tossing us both backwards. I lose my grip on her and she loses her grip on the guardrail. A second later and she’s a splash in the ocean ten feet below .
Without thinking, I dive back in, my heart thundering. Through the grace of God, there’s still enough daylight for me to make out her shape underwater. A few powerful kicks and I have her in my arms. I pull her to the surface with me, but I can tell by her sluggish movements that she’s taken in water .
Samson and Delilah are barking up hell as I drag the girl to the side of the Trojan. I manage to hook one arm around her torso and pull myself up the ladder with the other, until she’s on her back on the deck. Suddenly I’m not just a rescuer but a paramedic – her life is in my hands .
The dogs watch nervously as I cross my palms on her ample chest and press in rapid succession, until she finally coughs out a clot of seawater. She rolls onto her side and vomits more out onto the deck. It’s not a pretty sight, but I’m enormously relieved by it .
My reaction surprises me. Since when do I care about complete strangers ?
“Easy,” I say, lifting under her arm again and carrying her down into the saloon. She needs to get below decks as soon as possible .
“Thank you,” she mumbles once more in a dazed voice .
I look her over, trying to g
auge if she’s injured. Her dress clings to the curves of her dancer’s body; if there were any broken bones, they would stand out. As far as I can tell, the only thing physically wrong with her is that she’s exhausted and has swallowed seawater .
“What’s your name?” I ask .
Before she can answer, she’s out like a light on the sofa, clutching the thick wool blanket I’ve tossed over her. Within a few seconds she’s snoring softly, despite the chaos swirling around us .
I shake my head. An hour ago, I was warm and dry and enjoying my coffee. Now I feel like a drowned rat, and I still have to haul this woman back up the banks with me once I get the Trojan back to the dock .
“Your name should be Storm,” I grumble as I head back up to the cockpit, leaving the dogs in charge of my new companion .
Chapter Thirty
2 . NICK
She snaps awake to the explosion of a pine knot in the fire, gasping and pitching forward under the coverlet of the antique four-poster bed. Her terror at the sound confirms my suspicion that the holes in the catamaran’s hull came from gunfire .
“It’s all right,” I say softly from my chair next to the fire. “You’re safe. No one can hurt you here .”
Her gaze darts around the room as she takes in her new surroundings: a large, high-ceilinged bed chamber covered in polished mahogany paneling, with rich Oriental rugs and a small antique shop’s worth of period furniture. It’s one of fifteen such bedrooms in my house on the hill, none of which has been occupied by a human since I bought it more than a decade ago .
Slowly, the storm behind her azure eyes seems to dissipate as she realizes she’s not in danger. Her heaving chest begins to slow under the cable-knit sweater I swaddled her in, as her breathing returns to a more normal pace – or as normal as it can be, given the circumstances. Her hair has finally dried into a series of golden tangles, and her pale skin is regaining some color now from the heat of the bed and the fire .